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Talk:Horace Fryer/@comment-190.137.168.88-20161122205436
This document is highly classified on the orders of High Priest Fryer. Terminate Chevallier program. Subject proven to be unreliable. Test must be improved upon. Stronger psyche tests are mandatory. Last field report of 17-J-163. Status: MIA “Willowbrooke’s Ruins We’ve reached Willowbrooke, Roderick’s home. However, we came too late and the town lays in ruins. Scorched corpses fill the streets and burning rubble prevents us from properly exploring this place. This is regular West Marches sightseeing, what’s strange here is that it all appears to originate from one man…One huge, monstrous man. My friend is burning his loved ones in a huge pyre. Sad to see him like this, I was hoping he would finally get downtime and release some stress before we ran into the wolves’ den. With the help of Mortimer we found a card, a taunt, from a Purple Knight. He’s apparently the joker of the group. Sick fuck will pay. By my name I’m bound to this promise. We Roderick faced the “man” who destroyed his home town. Funny, it actually ran into our camp. (Apparently he’s immortal unless slain on his turf, which happens to be a swamp). Roderick keeps mentioning someone called Kiridor. He paints him as a hero of his faith that went rogue some time ago… This place has taken it’s toll on me. Doubt sprouts on my mind, when does Justice become Vengeance?...Where is the line drawn?. I turn to my ancestors, tonight I’ll speak with them and, if they will it so…Lumière will light my way. Too…many…Must I defend or avenge?” ---- “Snowdell Wasteland Must keep it brief, my fingers hurt because of the low temperature and my leg feels like it’s on fire. It’s all a big fucking joke, isn’t it. Again we’re too late, the land’s ruined by a powerhungry madman called Sir Cold. Out of the population only 18 managed to survive. He’s captured and remains our prisoner, tomorrow morning I’ll pass on Judgement. Must take my time to make sure I remain impartial on the verdict. The Gods continue to mock me. Sir Cold escaped before I could Judge him. There’s no sign of his whereabouts. Again I’m too slow and the culprit gets away because of it. A voice speaks to me in the nights, when the campfire yet burns. It speaks of Justice and Vengeance as two sides of the same coin…Sisters yet different personas. Who is this strange voice?” ---- “Peawick’s Psycheanium This…this travesty of a place is ran by Lord Dox. He uses a rare mineral that wipes minds when exposed to long enough. As if that wasn’t enough it also controls emotions. I’m sure this heretic has devised a way to control the minds of Peawick’s inhabitants. The city is protected by golems and armor-clad guards, all of whom wear this mineral. By Verite’s balls, every citizen (even the Mayor) wears a piece of this mineral….all except for Dox. He seems to be immune to it, yet It appears I’m the only one who cares about such detail. My comrades are fooled by this heretic’s setup. They tell me to let it be and continue our travels. I obey. Imagine a place of complete “peace”; there’s no hunger, no hurry, no crime. But, there’s no freedom. You emotions are not your own and your thoughts are forfeit. I just described Peawick. I just described a Necropolis. Writing becomes erratic at this point. Professionals indicate a sudden crisis has scrambled the subject’s mind. Her amulet glows in Dox’s presence, but it emits a sickly green colour that matches his aberrant flesh. I’m at a lost for words as my guiding eyes are clouded by the metal that fuels that Hell. It glows so I must judge, yet, what and who? IT ‘S DOX MY CHILD, A VOICE YELLS IN MY HEAD. DON’T BE FOOLED. JUDGE HIM. DON’T HOLD BACK ANYMORE. But again I stay my hand as rage builds inside of me only to be washed away by the psycheanium, I’m not ignorant to it’s effects on me. I should’ve split Dox’s skull in half when I had the chance…instead I let myself be convinced by Roderick, who’s sure this city is an example to follow. His glow grows brighter every day while mine dims and dies in shame. Again I fail You…Oh, how you must hate me….and Rightly so. She came to me. In the night away from the camp- She showers me in wisdom. She offers me comfort in knowing I did what could be done at the time and I’m encouraged to go on yet I’m also told I must wait. There’s more to this journey that we once thought. Justice commands me to hold and think...and I obey. Out goes the joker Mortimer. In comes the untamed Roegor.” ---- “Latveria Now I understand Her words. The true purpose of this journey. This wasn’t meant to end anything but to start it all. The Octagonal Table has been Judged, sentence will be carried upon. The Order is no more. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. But from ashes and dust born is the ember." Horace Fryer, Going dark-